


The Listening Chair

by eringiles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eringiles/pseuds/eringiles
Summary: Albus remembered that it was the summer after the incident with Delphi that he finally started to understand his dad a little bit better.





	The Listening Chair

Albus remembered that it was the summer after the incident with Delphi that he finally started to understand his dad a little bit better. 

He’d woken up in the middle of the night, only a few days after coming home from Hogwarts, confused at first, thinking he was back in that old church in Godric’s Hollow, the night and the Dark Lord swopping in on everyone he loved with shadowy intentions.

A flash of lightening lit up his room, throwing everything into unnerving and sinister relief and sending a shudder of memories running down Albus’ spine. He fumbled with the bedside lamp, bathing everything in a warm glow before another flash lit up the curtains, followed shortly by a grumble of thunder. Eventually the storm rolled on enough for him to feel safe to venture beyond the confines of his duvet, sneaking downstairs to help himself to a glass of milk.

When he pushed open the door into the kitchen, it was to find someone already there. The lights were out, but he could still make out the shape of his dad, slumped in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, head in his hands. His father hadn’t made it home for dinner last night, sent his apologies, causing his mother to sigh and roll her eyes. His dad still hadn’t made an appearance by the time they’d all gone to bed, but he’d clearly made it back as he was now dressed in his pyjamas sat at their kitchen table, and if Albus wasn’t mistaken, crying.

‘Dad?’

There was a sharp inhalation before his father was rubbing at his eyes in a familiar gesture of exhaustion, as Albus lingered by the kitchen door.

‘You should be in bed,’ Harry said, sounding gruff. He didn’t look at Albus, kept his head bent and his eyes covered. 

Albus didn’t know what to do for a moment, was unsure whether his dad’s temper would flare at being found in a vulnerable position, but Albus decided to plough on. If his dad was in a bad mood, he’d just grab a drink and leg it back to bed.

‘I was. The storm woke me up. I thought I’d get a drink.’

Harry looked towards the window and made a noise of affirmation, as a distant flash lit up the horizon. Albus took this as permission to enter the kitchen and crossed over to the fridge. The light from the fridge spilled out across the kitchen as Albus removed the milk jug and turned to find a glass from the draining board. He caught sight of his dad in the glow of the fridge. His hair looked like James’ did in the morning, sticking out every which way. His hands were covering his eyes, but he looked pale in the dim glow. 

Albus sat down at the kitchen table opposite his father, sliding one of the glasses of milk that he’d poured across to him, before drinking from his own glass. Harry looked up then, first at the glass of milk, and then very briefly at Albus. It was long enough for Albus to see just how wrecked his father looked. 

‘Thank you.’ Harry reached out for the glass, and Albus couldn’t fail to notice the tremor in his father’s hand.

Harry took a small sip of milk before placing the glass back down and turning on the chair, so he was facing Albus. Under the blurry eyed gaze of his father, he felt like he was under a microscope.

‘Nightmare?’

Albus nodded, bowing his head and taking a large gulp from his glass of milk. He expected more bumbling questions from his father. What he didn’t expect was the honesty.

‘Me too.’

Bolstered by his father’s honesty, Albus pushed for more. ‘What did you dream about?’

There was a long pause in which his father stared into the depths of his nearly untouched milk, and Albus thought he’d pushed too far, too soon.

‘In your mum’s first year at Hogwarts some bad things happened.’

‘Bad things? Dad, I’m not twelve anymore.’

‘No, but, well… Long story short, your mum almost died, and so did I trying to save her.’ Harry paused, fingered a scar on his right forearm and took a long shuddering breath. ‘I dreamt I didn’t save her. And Dumbledore…’

Albus wanted to take back his question, and his interruption, because his father was struggling so much to get the words out.

‘Dumbledore was angry. I’d disappointed him by not being able to defeat Voldemort.’ 

‘But, you were only twelve.’

Harry laughed. ‘And I’d already stopped Voldemort coming back once, by keeping the Philosopher’s Stone from him. Why shouldn’t I be able to do it again?’

Albus stared. Was that really what his father thought? That he had to do everything? Had to save everyone? At the age of twelve? 

‘Dad…’

‘You know, whenever your mum used to make you three a glass of warm milk, she’d always make an extra one for me too.’

‘I think your mum would have made you warm milk.’

Albus had meant it to be kind, but he didn’t expect a sob to burst forth from his dad. For a moment, he panicked, worried that it had been the wrong thing to say. He watched for a moment as his dad tried to pull himself together, with limited success.

‘Dad…?’

‘What about you? What was your nightmare about?’ Harry asked abruptly, rubbing his right eye that was twitching now, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Albus shrugged. ‘Just, we were in St. Jerome’s again, on that night.’

Harry hummed before finishing off his glass of milk. 

‘Do you have a lot of nightmares about that night?’

Albus shrugged again. ‘Less now than I used it.’

‘Me too.’

Albus stared at his dad for a long time, concern waring with curiosity. ‘You had nightmares about that night?’

‘I almost lost you that night. Of course I have nightmares about it.’

That hadn’t been the answer that Albus was expecting. He was expecting his dad to say that he had nightmares because he’d had to watch his parents die, not because… Albus felt his heart tighten in his chest, and tears started welling in his eyes that he tried to push back down. He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the cuffs of his pyjama sleeves.

‘Does Mum know you still have nightmares?’

‘Sometimes. That’s why she makes me warm milk.’

‘But you don’t always tell her?’

‘No. I don’t want to worry her.’

‘Are they always the same?’

‘No. Not always. Sometimes I dream that your Uncle Ron has let hordes of pigeons into the house and I wake up in a cold sweat.’

Albus tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help cracking a smile, unsure if this was his dad’s poor attempt at humour, or if he’d genuinely woken up in a sweat because of pigeons.

‘I’m sorry you have nightmares.’

‘It’s not your fault, Albus.’

‘No, I know that, but I’m still sorry. I didn’t realise. When I read about all the amazing things that you did with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, I just thought, I just assumed…’

‘That it was exciting?’ Albus nodded. ‘Well it was, sometimes. But it was also terrifying, and quite frankly a lot to put on the shoulders of an eleven year old boy who was already having nightmares while sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs.’

Albus swallowed, his brow creasing. For all Albus knew about his father’s childhood, he hadn’t heard about it from his dad. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that a lot of what he’d learned of his father’s life, he’d learnt from what he’d been told by other people, what the history books said, what he’d been branded as: ‘the boy who lived’, ‘the poor orphan who went on to save the world’. He’d only ever heard about the good bits when his dad talked about Hogwarts, and nothing really before he boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time. 

Harry sighed then, and got to his feet, reaching for both glasses on the table and moving them over to the sink.

‘Come on, let’s both try getting a bit more sleep before your sister wakes us up.’

They plodded back up the stairs together. Dawn was starting to break, casting a dull glow on the landing from the bathroom window.

‘Dad?’

Harry turned lethargically on the top step to regard his middle child. ‘Yes, Albus?’

Albus hesitated before moving towards his dad, hugging him tightly around the middle. Harry, unsure what was happening at first, stiffened slightly, before he brought his own arms round to embrace Albus, holding on just as tight. It felt like only a second, before Albus was pulling away and turning back down the hallway to his own bed, but it lifted Harry’s spirits enough for him to exhaustedly crawl back under his own covers and sleep until Ginny roused him for breakfast.


End file.
